


Better Late Than Never

by enefasparable



Category: Andromeda Six (Visual Novel)
Genre: Andromeda Six: Star Crossed Lovers, Damon catches feelings he can't dodge BLOOP, Edgeplay, F/M, Feeeelings, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post DLC, Talisha (My Traveler)/Damon Reznor, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, post shower sex, this takes place after the Festival of Valen ;), uwu Damon can't run from loveeee anymoreeeee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enefasparable/pseuds/enefasparable
Summary: "...if this is a mistake, he’s going to make it the best goddamn mistake either of them has ever made."Or, Damon finds Talisha after the Festival of Valen to break whatever's growing between them off for good -- and gets far more involved than he planned to.This is truly just shameless smut with feels, folks.
Relationships: Damon Reznor/Original Female Character(s), Damon Reznor/Traveler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	Better Late Than Never

**Author's Note:**

> This murder biscuit would be the one to break my fanfic fast.
> 
> Note: this takes place right after the Star Crossed Lovers DLC, but doesn't contain any *major* spoilers for Damon's DLC date (except a scene near the beginning + the ending, tho the end is the same for all the routes :)). In case yall are curious, this art is my face claim for Talisha: https://www.deviantart.com/gravity-zero/art/Callisto-The-Strategist-715700857
> 
> Enjoy!

Damon sees steam rising from Talisha’s closed door, and almost stops himself from knocking. He _absolutely_ knows better than to barge in, given what happened after the Festival of Valen — the almost-kiss. He’d lost himself in her, in the way her umber skin glowed beneath twin moons. Worse — he’d _wanted_ her. He’d leaned in, despite himself, and almost captured her bottom lip between his — 

Damon growls, desperate to shut the memory away. Steeling himself, he focuses on the smooth metal planes of Talisha’s door; reminds himself that this _can’t happen._ Sure, the chase is intoxicating — as is the constant push-pull between them. He daydreams of quippy one-liners to throw her, and delights in the brazen way she throws them right back.

But _this_ — whatever this was between them — ends here. 

Damon rakes a hand through his windswept hair, then hammers on her door. “Open up, newbie.” A long beat elapses, and heat crawls his cheeks. Is she — is she actually ignoring him? “Giving me the silent treatment? Real adult,” he growls. 

Then, because he’s an asshole, he swipes the glowing “override” button beside her intercom buzzer.

The door glides open, releasing plumes of steam. It surrounds Damon as he sweeps inside, jaw gritted, to search the seemingly empty room. At first, he’s confused; there’s nothing, save for the remnants of a very warm shower lingering in the air. Then, he hears it — muffled, lilting music, coming from the room’s adjoining bathroom. Damon follows the sound, then stops in his tracks.

It’s Talisha, alright. Clad in a white towel, she hums softly before a mirror, an assortment of body oils spread atop the counter. A pair of small earbuds dangle from her ears. The room smells herbal — soft and relaxing. Talisha sways to music Damon still can’t make out; and gods, she’s lifting the towel to oil her thighs, bearing soft flesh for his devouring gaze — 

Damon freezes, desire coiling low in his abdomen. He fights the urge to come up behind her; to gently peel away her towel, and tongue the skin it once hid. 

_Fuck_. This. Can’t. Happen. 

“Talisha,” Damon rasps. She still hasn’t noticed him in the doorway. He thinks about yelling out, but memories from earlier flood back to him — of Talisha barging into the storage closet he’d been changing in, and ogling him like a space buffet. 

Propping himself against the door with a smirk, he decides to enjoy the show. He watches her hips sway to the music; listens to the melodic way she hums along; bites his lip as she slicks oil along her shoulders and neck, and wonders what sounds she’d make if he kissed the hollow just below her ear.

“Damon!” Talisha starts, finally catching his wanton gaze in the mirror. He’s probably supposed to feel ashamed; instead, he only grins wider now that she’s caught him. Two parts desire and fury war in her gaze as she removes her earbuds. “Have you been standing there this entire time?! What the —”

“Seems only fair,” he says with a shrug. His smile grows wicked. “You did barge in on me earlier, after all.”

Talisha promptly opens her mouth, prepared for another verbal sparring match, then closes it. He _knows_ he’s got her there.

“Apologies for disrupting your privacy, _princess_ ,” he teases. Then, Damon straightens; slides his trademark facade back into place, and regards her stonily. “I’ll make this quick. Whatever that was back there, between us? Can’t happen.”

He watches her face fall, expression shifting from confusion, to — gods, to _hurt_. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but maybe it’s better this way. To drive the point home, he draws closer — close enough to smell the lavender wafting off her skin. “Understand?”

Defiant, she raises her chin. Of course she’s going to fight him on this. Still, he expects things to go the way they always do when he pulls his playboy schtick — she’ll withdraw, disappointed. Eventually, she’ll let it go. Let _him_ go. 

Instead, Talisha surprises him. Separating the distance between them, she presses into his space and meets his gaze fiercely.

“Coward.” 

She says it so forcefully, yet somehow softly, the word but a breathy whisper, that he almost stumbles backward. Desire underlies her accusation — it radiates off her, charging the air between them until it’s electric. 

Damon’s hands move before he has time to process what he’s doing. In one fluid motion, he expels a ragged breath, then pulls her flush against him.

“Say it to my face.”

The words, half-groan, half-growl, are useless, because she _just_ did. But that doesn’t really matter, because pressed this close, there’s no need for words — a kind of language, unspoken and heady with need, unfurls between them. 

Before he can think better of it, he captures her lips in an achingly soft kiss. In it are all the things he can’t say — 

_I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone._

_I’m_ **terrified** _of hurting you._

Snaking his hand behind her neck, he deepens their kiss. He throws every fear he’s ever had about love and want and being needed into it, and makes a vow to them both — if this is a mistake, he’s going to make it the best goddamn mistake either of them has ever made.

“Damon,” she whispers into his mouth. 

He responds by sliding in his tongue against hers languidly; by nipping her bottom lip, hard enough to stutter her breaths. Now isn’t the time to think any of this through — that ship definitely sailed. Instead, he wraps one of her legs around his waist, braces her against the nearest wall, and _thrusts_.

“Fuck,” he groans, and her name tumbles from his lips. 

The slick sound her cunt makes when he thrusts permeates the room. It’s absolutely obscene, and he catches himself grinding against her core to moisten her further.

“Damon!”

He breaks their kiss to thumb her bottom lip. When her tongue darts out — when she sucks it into the heat of her mouth, Damon groans, and unable to stop himself, rips her towel away.

Talisha doesn’t cower; she doesn’t try to hide herself from him. Instead, she bites her lip hard, and lets him trace the contours of her with lust-ridden eyes. The valley of her full breasts are accentuated by dark nipples that pebble when he swipes a rough thumb over them; delicate freckles slope down her neck, trail down her abdomen, and disappear into downy curls below.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. And gods, he means it — there’s no sarcasm; no need to gain the upper hand. He flicks his eyes back to hers, and delights in the way she reaches for him again. “You’re beautiful.”

 _More than a poor orphan from Cursa deserves,_ he thinks. But he doesn’t say that; doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Damon, I—”

He wants to hear what she’s going to say — he really does. But frankly, he also yearns to see her unravel beneath him; to act all all the filthy desires he’s had since she came on board.

Before she’s able to finish that thought, he licks a molten trail down her neck. She bucks into his touch again, moans becoming needy. Damon kneads one breast between calloused fingers, before tweaking her nipple slightly. Somehow, the sensitive nub hardens more; and then, unable to help himself, Damon closes his lips around it, and worries the goosepricked flesh until Talisha’s clawing at his sweater.

“Damon — oh fuck, _please_ — I need —” 

Oh, he knows. His fingers ghost the top of her cunt, sliding deliciously across the skin there — without adding too much pressure yet. The motion is maddening; both slow and achingly light. 

“Harder!” she pleads. 

“So needy,” he laughs. 

The scowl she throws him is adorable. He rubs her cunt delicately a few times more, returning to suckle her neck — and then, as she sighs into his touch, he flattens his fingers, increases the pressure, and slides them deftly between her folds.

“Oh fuck, _fuck_ ,” she moans, canting into his hand.

His middle and ring fingers are spread on either side of her clit, and the filthy _glide_ of it — of how wet she is, is enough to make him buck against absolutely nothing. 

“And here you were,” she teases breathily between strokes, “pretending you didn’t want me.”

Damon smirks against her neck; his pants are fully tented now, stained with a growing splotch of precum. He slides his hand down her wet folds, and up again, quickening the motion as her moans come louder against the shell of his ear. “Yeah, yeah. I’m an idiot — what else is new.” Quickly, he withdraws his hand, only to shift its position. Instead of rubbing from the top-down, he slides two fingers into her aching cunt.

Talisha screams, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Damon groans at the way she instantly clenches around his fingers; using his free hand, he alternates rubbing her clit and kneading her ass, guiding her deliciously to ride him as best she can in this position. “That’s it, just like that.”

Damon finds himself struck at how beautiful she is like this, her body moving in perfect harmony with his. He groans when she takes one of her nipples between her own fingers, and tweaks it in time to his ministrations.

“Oh god, Damon, I—”

“Come for me,” he growls into her neck, his fingers curling against a spot that makes her keen. Gods, the tightness of her — the molten _heat_. He imagines being buried deep inside her, instead of his fingers, as he works her toward the edge. “Come, Talisha.”

As she begins to crest, as her breaths grow short and her moans higher, as he feels that tell-tale clenching that precipitates her breaking — he withdraws.

Talisha looks like she could murder him with one — or maybe all — of his knives.

“Damon,” she huffs threateningly. 

He laughs, pleased. “Don’t worry — I’ve no plans to leave you unsatisfied.” In one fluid motion, Damon removes his shirt and sweater. The plane of his washboard abs meet warm air, and then he’s upon her again, skin to skin, and she sighs into his touch. “I just wanted to feel you.”

She smiles, and the effect is like staring into the sun. Damon ducks his head, cheeks reddening, and tries not to think the word — _love_.

Is this what it feels like? He knows desire. Lust ridden touch, and breathy moans, and really good fucks that soothe the loneliness. But he’s never known this. Never wanted to — until now.

“Well, I want to feel you,” she says sweetly. Then, low, languid, and desire-ridden, she whispers: “Fuck me, Damon.” 

Damon curses. He lets her un-clasp his belt; lets her slide his pants and boxers down, gentle fingers rubbing his aching cock while she removes them, and it’s impossible not to thrust into her touch. 

Lucky for them, Damon keeps condoms in his wallet — an age-old habit he’s never really grown out of. She slides the soft latex onto him, and he has to breathe through his nose to stave off a premature orgasm.

Yes — even _he_ runs the risk of unloading early. Toying with her has left him sensitive, his cock twitching at every touch of her fingers against his abdomen and chest. 

When he wraps her legs around him again, he carries her easily — but doesn’t deposit them on the bed. No, he positions her against the front door to her quarters, and grins wickedly.

“I want them to hear you,” he kisses the words gently into her neck. “I want everyone to know what we’re up to.”

It’s filthy — and absolutely unnecessary, which he knows. But besides the furious blush covering her cheeks, she doesn’t complain; she doesn’t stop him from lowering one of her legs, so that he can better position himself at her entrance. 

Damon groans raggedly as he pushes inside her, sheathing himself until she’s warm and wet around him. For a moment he doesn’t really move; just pushes until he’s buried to the hilt, until their bodies are practically flush, and she’s panting and biting her lip, trying so desperately to keep herself quietly contained.

He doesn’t want that. Not anymore. He doesn’t know why he ever came here with the intention of stopping this.

Pressed flush, he catches her lips between his again; snakes his fingers back to her clit, and rubs the sensitive nub deftly between his fingers.

“You’re so wet,” he moans, unable to stop himself from showering her with praise. “You gonna last for me? Hm?”

Talisha moans, desperately moving her hips; the motion only succeeds in tightening her walls around him, as he works her, yet again, so deliciously close to climaxing. He still hasn’t moved fully — only circled his hips while buried inside her, drawing breathy cries from them both, as she clenches and unclenches around him maddeningly. 

“Don’t come yet,” he whispers. But like the tormentor he is, Damon doesn’t stop his ministrations; he doesn’t stop working and rubbing her, doesn’t stop alternating his wet fingers between her cunt and peaked nipples, and telling her what a _good girl_ she is for taking him like this, filthily, against the door where everyone can hear him ravaging her, until she’s uttering a string of unintelligible curses and drawing close, once again, to climaxing. 

Then, while she’s deliciously broken open before him, _so, so close_ to release — he stops. This time, she actually cries out frustratedly.

He doesn’t let her languish long, though.

Sensitive and close himself, Damon pulls out slow, then thrusts _hard_ back into her, hips now establishing a stroke pace that leaves her breathless. “I want — _ah_ ,” he groans, feeling her tighten again around another thrust, as her nails claw at his back. “I want you to come with me.”

Something about spilling over the edge with her is completely intoxicating to him. Neither of them will last much longer — not with the delicious glide of his cock, hitting spot after spot; not with the tight wetness of her squeezing him. All of it’s enough to push him faster; to make his thrusts come jaggedly and rough, so that the door shakes, and the sounds of skin slapping skin fill the room obscenely.

Talisha’s practically screaming his name, now; fucking into him, her hips pitching desperately as her needy mewls break around fervored moans of his name. He moans hers like a prayer at first, muttered softly, then stretched long and low, a gnarled rasp that lands against her sweat-slick flesh amid each thrust.

When Damon’s precipice coils low within him, he knows he’s close; she’s been so good, letting him work her to the edge and back at least three times. Now, though? 

Now, he needs her to break.

“Come for me, now.” Damon rasps this, hips pistoning jaggedly. He looks down between them, and growls at the vision of her taking him so well; at the wet slipping down her thighs. “Come hard for me.”

Tanisha crests and breaks, and gods, it’s _beautiful_. She comes with a series of high, clipped cries, and the sound alone sends him over the edge. 

Damon slides in and out once, twice more — 

“Oh fuck, Talisha, _fuck_ —”

His orgasm hits him like a wave — pulsing hot, molten, spine-tingling; he forces himself to continue thrusting, to draw cries from her while he swallows the rest of her moans with needy kisses.

Then, his motions slow; their collective cries soften; and Damon slides out with a slick pop that makes them both shiver at the loss of contact. 

“Hol-y-shit.” Talisha expels a long breath, and wobbles when he lets go of her legs. She looks up at him; thumbs his sweat-slick cheeks, and shakes her head, perhaps disbelieving. Before he can even recover, she kisses him breathless again.

“Yea,” he laughs breathily. “Seconded.”

The afterglow is intense and languid — a warmth that unfurls between them, as he tucks a few braids behind her ear, and kisses the freckles smattering her nose. Then, suddenly, sheepish, they break apart — as if realizing that this is the moment.

This is where he’s supposed to leave her.

It’s what playboys do, after all.

Damon averts his eyes, and begins dressing quickly; he gathers her towel and a few knick-knacks that fell during their lovemaking, and tries to ignore the way she hurriedly dresses in sleepwear, and crosses the room as far opposite him as possible, until she’s eyeing him apprehensively from the bed. 

_Say something,_ he chides himself. 

He’s supposed to pretend this was just good sex; that there isn’t anything between them. That love is just a stupid social construct, created for the purpose of selling stupid greeting cards, stuffed toys, useless sweets.

“Damon?”

She’s staring at him, confused; her brown skin’s still dewy, her lips puffed from where he kissed them raw. Clearly, she’s not sure what he wants either.

Damon coughs awkwardly. Half-turning, he opens her door, and stares out into the ship’s darkened hallway. He imagines pretending that this didn’t matter, days later; really tries to visualize leaving this room, and not looking back.

And suddenly, his mind goes blank. He can’t even fathom what that would look like. 

The door clicks shut when he closes it, and his face is soft when he turns to her.

“I’m staying tonight,” he blurts out. And then, though he can feel his cheeks heating, he adds: “If you’ll have me.”

He isn’t sure what this is, or who he is; sometimes, he doesn’t know what to do if he isn’t running from something. But when she smiles, flicks back the covers, and motions him over, he wonders why he’d never chosen to run _toward_ something before now. 

_Better late than never,_ he thinks. And maybe — just maybe, because it’s her — he’s glad to learn it when it matters most. 


End file.
